


Revival

by leslie057



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Season/Series 02, Slight hint of humor maybe, jonathan x nancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-05 02:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslie057/pseuds/leslie057
Summary: And somehow a single road trip became a thorough revival of their vanishing connection. Aka: Jonathan and Nancy are very together post the exorcism.





	1. Interruption

If their night together hadn’t irreversibly walked her into his life, being there with him to cleanse Will of that nauseating, relentless force had. She meant something to him before, but the last year caused them to be so detached. It left them anxious and unconfident, baiting them with a blissful type of love while at the same time burning away the likeliness of it, downplaying their relationship to nearly the point of no return.

They told themselves for a while that their turn would come. Though as the days carried on, the expectations died out. It was self-sabotage. He would say things he didn’t know would hurt her. One Friday she asked him if she could eat lunch with him at his car. “Uh, I have to study, so I kind of just need to be alone. Is that okay?” he said. In his mind it was the perfect decision; he felt particularly drawn to her that morning and didn’t want her presence to heighten it all. She did things, too. Let her boyfriend make out with her after school in the parking lot _one row over_ from where he always parked. But he didn’t see how one-sided and unbalanced the kissing sessions were because he didn’t watch. He didn’t glance.

Those months were completely terrible. They handled them very similarly. Giving into imagination almost never and overall trying not to think about each other. She would be lying down at midnight—finally tired—and _try_ not to invite him into her stream of thoughts. She would quit on rare occasions and bring her knees up, nestle her head against her pillow, hold onto the comforter, telling herself that she was with him. That it was them in the future, in a year even. The smallest things reminded him of her. His mom’s curling iron in their bathroom drawer and the melodic love songs that came on the radio.

And somehow a single road trip became a thorough revival of their vanishing connection.

Hopelessness in her heart turned to felicity in his arms turned to fear in the cabin turned to...exhaustion. She’s exhausted as she stands in his hallway. Will is resting in his room, the kids are talking in the living room, Steve’s already home (but was forced to take medicine by Joyce). Nancy leans against the wood framing, staring at her brother and his friends. One of which she doesn’t recognize. She knows her name is Max, that’s kind of all.

How will she ever sleep again? _Will_ she ever sleep again? Whenever she tries to focus on the good—the Gate being closed for instance—the event starts to replay in her head. And not misty images rotating on glass disks like a film. It’s a crystal clear show, graphic and explicit. Screaming and a fire and choking and heaters and crying and dying and...she didn’t even have to go with them. She wasn’t supposed to go with them. Maybe it felt inappropriate as she awkwardly observed their hugging from a distance and when she got to sit in the front seat while they were driving back. But if she hadn’t been there, well, no one can consider that yet.

She goes down the hallway, sick of looking at her brother and thinking about losing him. “Jonathan,” she says at the door of Will’s bedroom. Standing next to an electric fan he has plugged in, he turns to her, his signal that she has his attention. “Can I spend the night?”

His weary eyes leave the bed and settle on her. “What?” he responds as if he actually didn’t hear. She approaches him.

“Can I stay here?”

She steps closer, her expression sad and beautiful. He breathes in, his shoulders rising. “You don’t need to go home?”

There is little space between them, and she reveals to him in a captivating tone, “I don’t want to leave.” Her hands find his arms. His long sleeve shirt is sticking to him. She feels gross. They haven’t changed, haven’t showered. She’s hot, how you feel when you’re sweating a fever out. But when he leans lower, chills travel down her body. He holds her arms, too. She can sense his fatigue, can see the wetness in his eyes.

That screen lights up in her head again, but the movie’s not of the exorcism now. It’s of their night. _Their_ night.

She remembers every touch, every word, every sound, everything. And tonight was so different; no, way past different. It was a hurricane after a sunrise. She wouldn’t wish that sort of suffering on her worst enemy, much less _Jonathan’s_ family. This is the world they live in now. Paranoia and horror and bad dreams and goddamn possession. But the night before, they were free to unwind. Not pretend, unwind. Kiss, touch, sleep. That’s all she wanted, yet he gave her more. It didn’t feel teenage. Well, maybe so. But in a matter of hours they caught something both valuable and infinitely priceless: that ‘L’ word.

Still, both nights proved his need for her. She had felt more needed the last few days than she had her whole life. Truly, he needed her. In that cabin, she was holding him up all on her own. Many people probably didn’t like to be relied on, but she figures it’s what will keep her lucid from now on. She has purpose _and_ him.

She tilts her head back slowly and slightly, opening her mouth in desperation against his dry lips.

“Holy sh-” Mike begins breathlessly. She must’ve forgotten the universe hates her.

Jonathan moves away, but she keeps her eyes closed in an attempt to stay in that dreamy place a little longer. “Uh, sorry,” her brother continues. He looks behind himself uncomfortably. “I just...did you guys get a new phone? The blue one’s not on the wall.” His comment isn’t directed at her, which is great because she’s not up for talking in this exact situation.

Jonathan blinks several times, his jaw tightening. “No,” he finally says.

Her eyes go wide. “Oh, my God.” They stare at her while she nervously runs her hand through her dirty hair. “I, um, I’m sorry,” she apologizes to Jonathan. “I broke your phone.”

“You...broke...our phone?”

“When you guys were with him,” she starts and gestures to Will in the bed. “And, you know, the phone went off, I...just, well, I kinda just pulled it off of the wall.”

“You couldn’t just hang up?” he says in a whisper, only to her.

“Well, I did, but it rang again.”

“Why didn’t you-”

“Look, is there another phone anywhere?” Mike interrupts their side conversation.  

“We...there’s a hand-held in the kitchen.”

Mike nods, seeming very ready to leave. “Hey,” she calls, walking toward him a little. “You’re calling home?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell her I’m staying, too?”

He hesitates. “Sure.”


	2. Spending the Night

She lets him let her shower first out of the two of them. Although she makes the case that she simply doesn’t have the strength to turn his offer down, it’s really because she thinks her hair might dry before they go to bed and is fantasizing _big time_ about him feeling what it’s like when it’s clean and soft for once. The oiliness of her curls she’s sure gave a false impression last night.

“Hey, do you have something I can-”

She is surprised when she sees folded clothes in his hands.

“Wear,” she finishes, emotion showing through her tone. He’s gone through hell, and he’s treating her like a guest.

The shower is therapeutic in the beginning, but she doesn’t stay long; she doesn’t want her mind to wander. There’s just something wonderfully medicinal about being in their baby blue bathroom, her body soapy (was she allowed to use their soap?) and the warm water falling down. Inescapably she’s in distress. She can’t resist that. But it’s equally hard to ignore that intricate knot of faith in her heart that this is over. That El did it. That there’s a chance they don’t have to do this next year, and all they have to deal with is the _memories._

She thinks about the people in the house—the survivors. They are a unit, and she’s part of it. They’re the only way she will ever laugh again. Be happy again.

It’s absurd that she gets a dizzy feeling from wearing his shirt. She’s wearing a small pair of Joyce’s sweatpants, too.

She goes to the living room to find him. The window’s covered. The kids are tearing papers from the wall. Joyce is in her bedroom. No Jonathan, but she’s embarrassed to ask for him. In the kitchen she gets tap water—tap water with zero ice because a fucking demogorgon contaminated their freezer. Hopper had words about it earlier.

She sees in her peripheral vision someone come up beside her. She recognizes the girl by the blur of reddish orange. “Here, I’ve got it,” Nancy speaks and holds out her hand. The girl carefully hands her glass over. Nancy brings it under the running sink. “Thanks. Uh, I’m Max. I’m...Billy’s…”

“I know, I know,” she responds and gives her the water. She sighs and continues, “I know your name, too.”

“Oh.”

“So are you staying?”

“Um, yeah. Once I call my mom at least.”

“Okay.” Nancy takes a drink and says, “Good. Uh, I know this is a lot...you know this is a lot to walk into, but I’m really happy you’re friends with them.” She nods toward Lucas, Dustin, and Mike. El’s lying on the couch.

Max blinks at her as if she’s some kind of savior or saint for _talking_ to her. “Thank you. It is a lot.”

“Don’t let them push you around.”

“I _don’t,_ ” she says boldly.

“Nancy, can I wash your clothes?” _There’s_ Jonathan, standing in front of them by the dining table. She meets his gaze. “Uh...yeah.”

He pauses. “Wh-...where are they?”

“ _Oh,_ ” she says and promises herself she won’t blush. He usually doesn’t catch her off guard. Make her a little lightheaded once in a while, of course. But this is strange. “They’re...on your bed.”

“Okay.” He leaves them alone.

“Have you...how long have you guys been…” Max begins, not wanting to overstep.

“I don’t know.” She swallows and looks at the younger girl. “Like 24 hours?”

“Oh. Sorry, Jesus, I didn’t...I just thought...I guess I don’t know what I thought,” she stumbles and picks up the phone, immersing herself in a different activity. Nancy ambles to the living room and sits gracelessly in a chair in the corner. No one says anything to her. She’s got her legs tucked to the side, her chin in the palm of her hand. Waiting for Jonathan’s shower to end.

After a few minutes, Max is done with her call and approaches the group of kids. “You sleeping over?” Lucas asks her, and she nods. Nancy tilts her head curiously, recalling how the two had sat together on the hallway floor earlier. Things continue on as normal while they take down the last of the drawings until Max’s hip brushes the side of the couch when she’s walking to the trash can. El’s slumber goes on, but Mike spits out, “Are you _trying_ to get her to wake up?” She hangs her head. Lucas looks disappointed and says more quietly, “Calm down, Mike.” He turns back to the wall, ripping one of the papers in half as he tries to take it down.

Nancy’s angry at first but locks eyes with him for a moment, and from that she knows he’s not trying to be a jerk to Max, he’s _scared_ and _hurt._ She gets up and returns to the kitchen. Little time passes. “Hey, Mike, can you come here?” Slowly he follows her outside, where the sky is dark and the air impossibly cool. The silhouette of fragile tree branches still shows in the night. They sit on the porch swing, and it creaks. “What is it?” she inquires in a warm voice.

“What is what?”

“What you said to Max. Why did you do that?”

This doesn’t happen, these talks with her. This isn’t a thing; they don’t have porch interventions. Their house doesn’t even _have_ a porch.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. So, what, you’re gonna keep treating her that way?”

He shrugs so she adds, “You think she needs that? She goes home, and it’s terrible. And she comes here, and she thinks it’s safe with her friends, and you say that bullshit to her?” He lifts his chin, meeting her strong stare. “I know this isn’t just about her, but you’re better than that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She deserves to hear it.”

He’s skeptical about the caring trait she’s taken on, but rises to stand. “Can I ask you something now?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you with Jonathan?”

She stands as well, realizing her pajamas aren’t a good match for the cold. _Oh, Jonathan: the person you kept me from kissing._ “Would you be mad at me if I was?”

“No.”

════

When his shower is over, Nancy treads to his bedroom. Despite her drowsiness, she is fully prepared to take on his anguish and affliction as they had each other’s passion yesterday. She pushes on the door, calling quietly, “Jonathan.” Beside the window, he’s in the guise of the sufferer that he is, his body moving side to side and trembling. How long had he been standing like that? His locks of hair are disarranged and a little wet but some pieces nonetheless reflect the otherwise peaceful light of the lamp, shining while she inhales sharply and shuts the door.

She’s next to him in a flash and can’t remember walking over. Her the-things-you-say-matter talk with Mike doesn’t match up to this it seems. There are thoughts she has, but in his presence they are breaking with loud snaps, and she has nothing to say. To her surprise, when she comes closer, _he reaches out._  She pulls him against her, her elbows falling on his shoulders. His hands hold each other behind her. It means something, but it’s as if the both of them immediately know the hug is not his—anyone’s—salvation. Frustration plunges into her, taking up residence at the very bottom of her heart and soul, a maddening reminder that she’s damaged, too. She feels she’s lost her supportive touch as quickly as she found it. But if quitting is a choice, she’s not going to choose it. “What are you thinking?” she asks tenderly and moves back.

He clenches his jaw, troubled eyes going from her to the left, her to the left. “I’m thinking,” he starts in the most unstable way and his eyes close. “My...my family almost died and I didn’t do anything.” He tries to stop his shaking and wilts. Clutching his wrists, her hope falls to the ground. The familiar sting of tears visits her, and she begins crying without sound as he does. Since the ends of his sleeves are stretched and worn, they slip over her hands. She slides her fingers up his arms, feeling the fine hair.

They’re just there like that in the room, too much space in the middle of them but holding onto one another. “Jonathan,” she pleads. This cry has been coming on for a while now, and in the exact moment where she wants to be strong, his confession has yanked it out of her. She takes herself away from him, covering her mouth with her hand. They cry, Nancy more uncontrollably, but all that is heard is their cyclic gasps. She doesn’t know why she turned away. An internal conversation happens, their thoughts escaping and sort of resonating across the room, existing to the other afterward. _Come back. I can’t. I need you. You can’t._

How delusional she was to think they could just hug and go to sleep. That they could kiss and touch and not talk about or deal with anything in too much detail. She had decided to be positive. The. Gate. Was. Closed. For hours she blocked her fears out, not thinking about that terrifying disease or whatever it was that gained control over Will. And now it’s all she can do. He’s right. His family almost fucking _died_ and what if they _had?_  She thinks Jonathan would have stopped breathing then and there. Mike would fucking kill himself. Hopper would be on his knees right now in the woods or something, a grown man turned insane. _These thoughts are too dark_ , she tells herself. But they could have been real. Which makes actual reality all the darker.

She drags her feet to the bed and crawls on, grabbing an extra pillow to hook her leg around. She strokes it in front of her face strangely, just for the sensation. The case is smooth and cool, and so is the one beneath her head. If she had a quarter for every dream where she’s been in his bed…

She hears him step over to and bolt the door. Her prayers are answered when he lies down behind her and places his fingertips on her shoulder through her borrowed shirt, rubbing gently. An invitation...a cry for help. She rolls over desperately with a whimper, raising her leg and setting it on him like she was doing with the pillow. It’s not sexual, but it makes them feel certain things. His arm goes to her waist, her forehead finds his chest. “They’re alive,” she reminds forcefully.

“Because of you,” he shoots back.

“Okay but they’re alive and they love you and no one blames you for _anything,_ I swear,” she gets out rapidly, tightening her grip while his shaking goes away. “They didn’t die. They’re right here. I’m _right_ here.”

It’s all so crazy. Yesterday around this time, there were so few words being spoken. They had only gotten a taste of what closeness could be like with each other. In honesty, he wasn’t quite sure she _wanted_ something to come from it until she woke up and told him to stay in bed with her.

“I know,” he offers. “But they…they would have-”

“They didn’t,” she looks up to him. His eyelashes are long, practically casting shadows over his irritated eyes. She closes the gap between them, kissing him fully. They haven’t in so long, and it’s better than she remembers. He rakes his hand through her hair. _Finally._  It’s soft and smells like the travel shampoo she found in her purse. Her head falls back at the contact, but she doesn’t stop. Actually, she goes beyond not stopping; she climbs over, straddling his hips and sucking on his mouth hard. Her back is arching as she tries to forget their nightmare of a life. She takes small bites of his lips, the match in her stomach catching fire.

“Nancy,” he whispers, and her prophecy comes true. Obviously these aren’t the right circumstances for that kind of intimacy, although their bodies might disagree. While getting back into her place, she apologizes, “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t tonight.”

“Me neither. I just know I won’t be able to sleep.”

She curls up more, allowing the pillow they’re sharing to cushion her head and his arm to palliate her fears. That morning they were so innocent and credulous, dazzled by the relief from having something new. Easy, romantic songs crackled over the record player all through the night. _Was it all a dream?_

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing taking place in 2x09. I think practice is the best thing you can do with writing, so here is this. Kudos/comments I love but you already knew that.


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